


Wait a Minute Baby (Stay with Me a While)

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, One Shot, Oral Sex, Porn with some plot, Prostitution, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: “I’m Cordelia Foxx.”The girl’s hand fits against her own and is so chilled, rough calluses on the palm and rings on each finger. She’s hesitant, it’s obvious in each planned movement. “Misty. I’m Misty.”_______Cordelia Foxx meets a young blonde outside a gas station late at night, and decides to help her out.





	Wait a Minute Baby (Stay with Me a While)

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps I write too much smut, but nobody has complained yet - so here is another one.

**_“Wait a minute baby,_ ** ****_  
_ **_stay with me awhile._ ** ****_  
_ **_Said you'd give me light,_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_but you never told me about the fire.”_**

* * *

 

 

The first time Cordelia meets her, it’s under the harsh light of a gas station; standing there next to the automatic doors with her feet shaking in worn brown leather boots. The shawl she wears is embroidered with flowers, and she holds in tightly around herself in poor replacement of a real jacket.

 

Her honey blonde hair is a mess of wild curls that drape over her shoulders and that’s what catches Cordelia’s attention as she walks in to pay for her gas; the way even her hair trembles with her body in the cold.

 

“Excuse me,” She grabs the girl’s attention, and when the stranger looks up and gray-blue eyes hesitantly meet her own Cordelia decides she can’t be older than twenty five - standing out her so late at night with her heavy mascara smeared and her lips turning blue. “I’m sorry to bother you but…”

 

The older blonde hadn’t thought of what she’d wanted to offer the girl, perhaps a bit of kindness. Cordelia lets soft smile pull at her lips and she asks, “Would you like a coffee, or something?”

 

The girl tilts her head, raises an eyebrow at the question and hugs herself a little tighter.

 

“i just - I have a gift card, and it’s going to expire tomorrow.” She lies through her teeth, a skill learned from her mother and one she’s thankful for now. “I’d rather it not go to waste.”

 

The stranger’s voice is rough, but quiet and blanketed with a heavy Cajun accent; completely unexpected but ever so fitting for the way she bites her lip and asks back, ‘Why ain’t you gonna put it in your tank?”

 

Well _shit._

 

“Kindness to strangers.” Cordelia gives as an explanation, reaching up to pull nervously at her own hair. Something about this girl makes her stomach do  a flip as she pushes herself off of leaning on the large glass window. The artificial lighting casts shadows over her face, but among the light freckles splattered like paint against her sun kissed skin is a collection of bruises on her cheek, let’s Cordelia see her busted lip and watery eyes.

 

Her skirt is torn and her top is ripped and she seems so _small_ even if she’s taller than Cordelia.

 

Trying to make the apprehensive look leave the younger woman’s eyes, she holds out her hand to shake and states, “I’m Cordelia Foxx.”

 

The girl’s hand fits against her own and is so _chilled,_ rough calluses on the palm and rings on each finger. She’s hesitant, it’s obvious in each planned movement. “Misty. I’m Misty.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Misty.”

 

( _Misty,_ it rings like a church bell in her head as she rolls it around to get a feeling for the name. Enjoys the way it comes off her tongue and she finds herself wanting to say it again.)

 

“Coffee?” Cordelia reminds her, looking into the little storefront.

 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds awful nice right about now.”  Misty’s little nod is all she needs to start leading her in. Paying while the younger girl stirs an unreasonable amount of sugar into her paper cup. The attendant glares the girl besides Cordelia - like her mother looked at the dead mice her childhood cat would drag into the house and leave at Fiona’s feet.

 

When she gets her card back, the man finally speaks his mind, and his tone carries an undeniably venomous quality as it’s directed to Misty, “You stop _hanging_ around here, lady. It’s bad for business.”

 

Cordelia glances at Misty, the dark blush that takes over her cheeks and blends with the bruises.

 

The man finishes spitting out the command at her, and then looks disgustingly at Cordelia herself, “With how many men’s cars she climbs into, ma’am, I’m not sure she’s worth the coffee.”

 

The biting comment has Cordelia shaking her head slightly, her feet carrying her toward the exit and Misty trailing closely behind on her heels. Outside, the night air is freezing again. Steam rises off the younger woman’s coffee, her hands clasped around the hot container.

 

“Thank you.” Misty shifts from her heels to her toes, something like guilt and _shame_ drawing down her features. “I’d hate to keep you any longer. Bet your husband is worryin’ by now.”

 

Cordelia is surprised, for a moment, but she remembers her damn ring and almost laughs at her own forgetfulness, that people can see the proof of her commitment.

 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

 

Blinding headlights pull in, and the truck smells obnoxiously of gasoline; The front of it is covered in bugs from the highway. The deafening horn sounds and Misty perks up.

 

Cordelia wants to stop her, her figure turning toward the sound and the older man who leans out the driver side window beckoning the young girl over.  “I should- I gotta go.”

 

Her hands move before she can stop herself, Cordelia’s fingers grabbing onto the end of Misty’s shawl and stopping her from leaving.

 

“Wait.”

 

“Huh?” Misty swirls, the tassels of her outfit swaying back and forth. Her lips might be busted, but she still looks quite pretty.

 

“How much? How much would he pay you?”

 

Misty shrinks at the question, her mouth opens and she breathes in deeply, letting it out through her nose. They’re staring at each other, like both of them don’t exactly know what’s about to happen. When she doesn’t answer, Cordelia blurts out.

 

“I’ll double it.”

 

It’s all Misty needs, to ignore the hollering of the truck driver and following after the older blonde like a lost duckling imprinted onto the first thing it sees.

* * *

 

**_“Drowning in the sea of love,_ ** ****_  
_ **_where everyone would love to drown,_ ** ****_  
_ **_But now it's gone,_ ** ****_  
_ **_it doesn't matter what for._ ** ****_  
_ **_When you build your house,_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_then call me home.”_

* * *

 

The house is so dark when they pull up, Cordelia wonders why she hadn’t flicked the outside lights on before leaving this afternoon. The garage door opens with a click of a button and Cordelia eases the car inside.

 

Turning the key, the engine cuts out and she looks over into the passenger seat. Misty’s hand wring together in her lap, and her empty coffee rests in the cupholder. The uneasy look on her face is coupled with a heavy air of thought, like she’s trying to think three steps ahead.

 

Again, her eyes glance at Cordelia’s hand on the steering wheel, over the metal band on her ring finger. Her throat is cleared and her voice is unsure, “Is ya husband home?”

 

“He’s away on business.” Cordelia watches the girl’s shoulders drop, somewhat relieved at the information. She tries to lighten the mood a little, “He’s _always_ away on business.”

 

“Oh.” Misty’s mud stained boots kick against the floor mats of the car; her entire demeanor speaks of something on the edge of a cliff. Ready to fall, but waiting for a reason to cause it.

 

Cordelia wonders why she brought this stranger home, and she feels like a fool for the way the exposed skin of Misty’s thighs sends a tingle down her stomach. How it spreads and settles into an uncomfortable heat. She debates what to say, she doesn’t want to come off like she _expects_ something.

 

(Though her bed is _cold_ , and it’s frozen even on the days Hank stumbles in the door smelling of scotch and cigarettes; the nostalgic scent of her mother.)

 

“Come on,” She finally settles on, “Let’s go in, I’ll get you something to eat while you clean yourself up.”

 

Misty brushes her hair away from her eyes, and the strands stick to the dried blood of her lip, and she nods.

 

“Okay.”

* * *

 

**_“And he was just like a great dark wing_ ** ****_  
_ **_Within the wings of a storm._ ** ****_  
_ **_I think I had met my match, he was singing_ ** ****_  
_ **_and undoing, and undoing the laces,_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Undoing the laces.”_

* * *

 

 

Cordelia dries her hands on the dish towel, her fingers dropping the light fabric back on the counter as she counts the minutes in her head. It hasn’t been too long, but the ham and cheese sandwich she’d made sit waiting on a pristine white dish patiently. Her curiosity makes her bite her nails, has her twirling her hair and stepping over to the base of the staircase.

 

The shower isn’t running anymore.

 

The steps feel taller, each one taking the time to feel like two. The heat from steam floods out into the hall, and Cordelia sees light spill from the ajar door. Along with the glow, a light humming sound flows out steadily though it cracks on the highest notes.

 

Cordelia’s hand hovers on the doorknob, something knotting in her chest like string that’s been too tangled. On the other side, Misty’s harmonies beckon her to push the wooden slab open.

 

She doesn’t.

 

She doesn’t _have_ to.

 

The humidity isn’t the only thing that turns the older woman’s face red as the door opens and Misty stands there wrapped in a towel and her wet hair clinging to her neckline. Bathed, she looks a bit more innocent; like the sins washed off down the drain as easily as the dirt. Cordelia is aware she’s staring - at the dip of Misty’s cleavage and the water drops running down from her damp curls down her collar bone, disappearing under the towel.

 

Her breath skips as if it’s a pebble hopping across the surface of water. A shuddering sound escapes her. Misty’s height has her looking up at her, face void of makeup but clearly sporting the evidence of past violence.

 

“You got really nice shampoo, Miss ‘Delia.”

 

The lavender fragrance drifts under Cordelia’s nose, makes her appreciate the fragrance so much more coming off a beautiful, nearly _naked_ woman.

 

She shakes her head. Rids herself if the lurking desires. How long has it been, really? Since she found herself wanting to touch someone like this?

 

“Thank you.”

 

Misty’s eyes blink once, twice at her. Her head tilts - the image of a puppy flashes in Cordelia’s head - a good comparison to Misty’s endearing action. Then her hand comes up, brushes over the bare skin of Cordelia’s arm; her fingertips settle at her elbow. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels all too different from innocent.

 

Misty’s voice drawls out, low and rough and certainly attractive, “I can think of a better thank you than that.”

 

Cordelia wants to catch herself, feels like stumbling into something she wants but _shouldn’t_. There’s a message behind the way the younger woman moves, makes the little space between them smaller and smaller until there’s barely room to breath without touching.

 

“You don’t-” Cordelia finally, _finally_ finds herself stating, “You don’t owe me anything. Okay?”

 

Misty bites her lip, avoids the cut on it, and her barefeet shift on the floor. “What if I wanted to owe you something, Miss ‘Delia?” and

 

_How many years has she been frozen?_

Is **this** what thawing out feels like?

* * *

 

**_“Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart._ ** ****_  
_ **_Never change, never stop._ ** ****_  
_ **_But now it's gone,_ ** ****_  
_ **_it doesn't matter what for._ ** ****_  
_ **_But when you build your house,_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Then call me home.”_

* * *

 

 

The journey to the master bedroom is plagued by Misty’s hands; grabbing at her waist, gripping her hips and pushing her against the wall to nibble on the column of Cordelia’s throat. Against all odds, the pair make it to the bedroom, not even bothering to close the door.

 

Cordelia’s clothing sheds itself like her old skin. Her blouse is thrown to the ground, her pants pool around her ankles, and she’s left standing in plain black cotton and staring at Misty fall onto the bed. It’s unmade, and silk sheets bunch around the young blonde like a nest welcoming her home. Her lungs feel too big in her ribcage, but there’s not enough oxygen making its way to her brain at the moment.

 

She registers that she hasn’t kissed Misty yet, that’s what she thinks when Cordelia sees the pink of her lips and she _wants_ to. She wants to so badly it hurts.

 

Misty giggles (soft, reminiscent of lost happiness and long overdue laughter) as Cordelia climbs atop her. Her towel becomes untucked, and she only stops smiling when Cordelia fits her mouth against her own to smother it with attention. The younger blonde tastes like minty toothpaste, and her fingers come up to thread themselves through Cordelia’s hair.

 

The groan that bubbles from Misty’s throat when they part is dipped in desperation, Cordelia’s palm going to push the towel aside and rest over each of her partner’s breasts. Straddling Misty’s hips, she catches her breath and lets her hands tremble against warm flesh.

 

“Can I touch you?” Cordelia pleads, her eyes soaking in the bared skin of Misty’s chest, her stomach, following the dip of her hips. Her own lower body hides more intimate parts from view. Vaguely, she registers the circular cigarette burns that are scattered across Misty’s forearms, the miscoloring of finger shaped bruises marking her hips.

 

How could someone hurt her? It’s a lost to Cordelia, looking down at Misty as if she’s so fragile she might break if she squeezes her hands too hard.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Shifting down, nudging Misty’s knees apart and sitting down between them, she hears the younger woman’s breath hiccup and hitch. Cordelia takes her time, drinking the sight of _Misty_ spread on her bed.

 

At the first touch of Cordelia’s cold fingertips, Misty sobs out her partner’s name - it breaks from her throat like a dam crashing and letting the flood overtake it - and turns her neck to whimper into the pillow. The older blonde’s incessant tapping has her hips jumping and her voice squeaking.

 

Cordelia has mercy on the younger woman, lets her hand cup against her and leans forward and over her, lips taking their place against Misty’s breast.

 

“ _Oh,_ Miss Cordelia.” Misty murmurs, her hands running through her lover’s hair in an effort to hold her in place. Her rings snag in the long golden strands, and she rocks her lower body up in attempts to get some type of friction. There’s teeth and there’s _biting;_ and her eyes feel like they roll to the back of her head when Cordelia uses her knee to press her palm further against Misty’s center.

 

Her mouth _pops_ when she releases Misty from her sucking, and she looks up with hooded eyes, kisses her and pushes her tongue in between the girl’s teeth.

 

Then she stops, and she asks,

 

“Can I taste you?”

 

The very word of _taste_ has Misty moaning, her toes curling and she grinds down on the fingers touching her. The younger blonde’s face flushes with more than pleasure, the thought that nobody has _ever-_

 

Cordelia would be the **first,** and Misty nods. Because she wants this woman to take care of her. The burn of desire in her tummy flares with each bruising kiss Cordelia leaves down on her journey and the marks they’ll leave only fuel the fire. Cordelia is marking _her._

 

The grin it brings to her face is wiped though, when she feels the older woman’s tongue against her clit; the warm wet feeling of being licked in such a dirty manner.

 

“Oh my _g-god.”_ Misty’s voice hiccups, her hands find purchase on the sheets and she pulls desperately on them, her heels digging into the mattress and her thighs burning as she tries to spread them further. Misty’s so busy taking in the swirling and the sucking and the _everything_ she only notices Cordelia talking when the constant motions halt.

 

“- _so_ good.” She catches the end of the older woman’s statement. Cordelia’s chin is wet and it shines in the light of the room, and her eyes are darker as she glances up at Misty. “You want to try it?”

 

Nothing more than a simple _mhm_ can come out of her before Cordelia coats two digits in Misty’s wetness and taps it to her lips  - asking her to open them. The flavor is entirely new; like sweat and heat and something so unique she can only describe it as _sex._

 

It makes Misty crazy, wondering what Cordelia tastes like, too.

 

When the older blonde goes back to kissing her in the most explicit way the word _kiss_ can be used, Misty let’s Cordelia wrap an arm around each of her thighs and pull her closer.

 

There’s heat building, like water on the stove coming toward a boil. The muscles in her legs shake, and the panting of her lungs feels like fire and matches the burn that Cordelia creates. Misty grinds her teeth together, feels the other woman’s nose bump against her bundle of nerves as her tongue pushes in.

 

It’s all it takes, her lips fall apart and she _screams_ a sound that sounds like Cordelia’s name. Her body tightens and breaks and she feels like glass under a hammer. Like all her problems wash clean and Cordelia sweeps them far, far away.

 

Her hands find themselves trembling, tugging Cordelia up and kissing her, licking the flavor of herself off of the older blonde’s chin and biting her lip softly.

 

She’s still struggling to breathe steadily, but Misty manages to speak, “Your turn.”

 

“No.” Cordelia stops her wandering, pulls it away from her panties and sighs happily. “Not tonight, okay?”

 

Not _tonight,_ it makes Misty look at her with a hopeful expression and her blue eyes wider.

 

“Tomorrow, after work.” Cordelia tells her, kisses her cheek, “I’ve been looking for a new assistant - where I work at the girl’s boarding school nearby - and I _think_ I found her.”

 

“Cordelia,” Misty chokes out the name, “Are you offering me a job?”

 

“I am.”

 

“But,” Misty looks at her hand, at the glint of golden metal, “You’re _married._ ”

 

“Not for long.” Cordelia smiles, her lips tugging up at the corners and dimples showing in her cheeks, “I filed for divorce this morning, Misty.”

 

“So…”

 

“I don’t care if you decide not to be with me,” Cordelia gently  tells her, “But you have a job, no matter what. You don’t have to let anyone touch you anymore, if that’s what you want.”

 

“I want you to touch me still,” Misty bites her lip, her eyes trail down to the fabric of Cordelia’s bra. The girl suddenly feels very giddy, and she breaks out in a grin,

 

“But I’d like to touch you, first, darlin'.”

* * *

 

****_  
_ **_“Sara, you're the poet in my heart._ ** ****_  
_ **_Never change, and don't you ever stop._ ** ****_  
_ **_Now it's gone,_ ** ****_  
_ **_no it doesn't matter anymore._ ** ****_  
_ **_When you build your house,_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_I'll come by.”_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Have a Goode-Day ;)


End file.
